


Holy shart ur 18 now

by Tastethatcake



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-23 02:36:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8310601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tastethatcake/pseuds/Tastethatcake
Summary: Some non-canonical fluffy content(tm) for alex... happy birthday fam!!





	

**Author's Note:**

> honestly I kinda wanna tag this better so it doesnt get literally 2 hits, but u know what?? "shart" is in the title and im not changing that so i think im ready for this story to be the Ghost Of AO3

Danyren never relished being the center of attention, so when she found herself on the outskirts of her own birthday party, she didn’t feel slighted. Of course, she hadn’t been ignored. The evening had started off being quite overwhelming, with every Warden in Weisshaupt stopping by to share their well wishes and to try to press a few coins into Danyren’s hand- which she would politely refuse- before moving away to indulge in the celebration. This attention had tapered off as night fell, leaving Danyren to watch her fellow wardens get absolutely plastered.

Birthdays in Weisshaupt were always just an excuse to get drunk. For most Fereldens, living long enough for age to take a toll on one’s appearance was something to be proud of. As a Warden, however, wrinkles were a sign that one’s death was hurtling towards them at an unfortunately fast speed. Similarly, birthdays were dreaded rather than anticipated. Cruel reminders of one’s own mortality had to be ushered away somehow, and for most Wardens, getting blackout drunk was just the ticket.

Danyren was resistant to this type of catharsis. Her idea of fun was hanging out with her eight-or-so friends and a dog. Not only did her birthday party contain far more than eight people and not nearly enough dogs, but the Grey Wardens held her in high esteem. When a Warden thinks of the Hero of Ferelden, the image conjured up is one of a stunningly beautiful, naturally charismatic, and quick witted war goddess. Danyren felt that people had been slightly misled. 

The truth was that sometimes, when a tavern was noisy, she would pretend to hear what people were saying so that she wouldn’t have to say “excuse me?” More than once. When someone would say “how’re you doing?,” and she was particularly deep in thought, Danyren would reply, “you too.” The unfortunate truth was that Danyren, though exceptional in many ways, was also just a regular elf. She found herself shying away from situations that might make that fact obvious to the people who idolized her.

Besides, Danyren was kind of a lightweight when it came to drinking. Elves not being able to hold their liquor was a common stereotype, and Danyren didn’t want to be the one to prove it true. 

As Danyren observed the Wardens singing tavern songs and slopping their ale onto the floor, she found her mind wandering to a past conversation:  
“Why don’t you try some of my homebrew, Boss? Traditional Dwarven recipe with my own added twist. It’d do you well to loosen up a bit.” Oghren had said.  
“Maybe I would, if you told me what the twist was.”  
“No can do, Boss. I’d trust you with the recipe, you’ve got greater anvils to pound than profiting off of my hard work. This one, on the other hand...”  
Morrigan scoffed. “Do you really think that I would claim that swill as my own invention, Dwarf?”  
“You’re gonna have to do something after all this is over, woman. Magic doesn’t seem to be working out, so unless you want to sell your body, your options seem limited...”  
“It would do you well to worry about yourself.”

Danyren stroked the pocket in her tunic, where a letter from Morrigan had been folded up. As usual, the letter had arrived perfectly on time, attached to the leg of a peregrine falcon. Morrigan’s words were as brisk as usual, but Danyren knew better than to expect overt affection from her. Just the fact that she had written the letter showed that Morrigan cared deeply. 

Nothing from Oghren yet, though. His well wishes would likely be weeks late, if he remembered at all.  
She had also received a box of pastries from Sten, a nice rock from Shale, and a deck of ornate cards from Zevran. A beautiful note from Leliana arrived attached to a beady eyed crow, written in loopy cursive on artisanal pink stationery. The letter indicated that the crow was named “Sweetheart.”

“Enjoying the celebration, I see?” A voice came from next to Danyren.  
She sighed and turned to Alistair. “At least they’re having fun. Where have you been?”  
Alistair had eaten breakfast with Danyren in the great hall as usual, but then had disappeared after an apology and a kiss, leaving her to her own devices for the entire day.  
“I’ve been preparing you the gift that’ll make up for this disaster. Come with me.” Without another word, Alistair grabbed Danyren’s hand and started to draw her out of of the Great Hall and towards the courtyard.

“It better not be something expensive, Alistair,” Danyren said in a mock angry tone.  
“What, more expensive than that half-dead rose I gave you all those years ago? I would never.”  
“Come on, that was such a sweet gift. You were so innocent back then, I just wanted to pinch your cheeks.”  
“Shows what I knew. I was hoping you’d fall in love with me, not make you see me as a pet.”  
“You’re not my pet? Why have I kept you around, then?”  
“Because of my superior fighting skills? Or maybe my biting wit?”  
“Hm. Yes, that must be it.”  
“Thought so.”  
“And because your nervous little stutter is just so endearing.”  
“You always did like to see me squirm.”

Alistair was leading her through the courtyard, towards the stables. His hand was sweaty, a sure sign that he was nervous. She gave it a reassuring squeeze, which he returned.  
“Brace yourself,” he said with a smile. “You’re going to like this.” 

They walked through the stable, the air thick with the smell of horse dung. Normally several stable hands would be tending to the horses, but they were all inside drinking, leaving the place empty save for nearly sixty horses. 

Danyren thumbed her earlobe nervously as they approached the last stall, which appeared to be unoccupied. Perhaps it contained a foal of some exotic breed of horse? But she had her own horse, and Alistair knew that she never cared about the aesthetics of her mount. There was no reason to spend his own money on a new animal when her current one worked perfectly fine...

But when Alistair opened the stall door, it was not a baby horse that stood behind it, but a halla. It was a calf, no more than four feet tall. One of its back legs was heavily bandaged, but other than that, seemed to be in perfect condition. Its white fur was soft in appearance, leading Danyren to believe that it had been groomed recently. Its brown eyes were inquisitive and completely devoid of fear.

“Alistair, a halla? How?”  
“Almost a month ago, a group of Grey Wardens found her by herself in the forest, leg all torn up. They took her back to a Dalish camp, but none of them recognized her. I heard about this, and I sent a letter asking if they could kindly let us keep her on behalf of the Hero of Ferelden.”  
“Really? They said yes to that?”  
“Of course! You’re a champion of elves everywhere! They gave our stablemaster a good lesson on halla care and sent her with us.”  
“But won’t she miss her own kind?”  
“She seems to like people quite a lot. Try to pet her.”

Danyren reached out cautiously, and let the halla sniff her hand before stroking it across the side of her face. “She’s beautiful.”  
The halla honked in response, and pushed past Danyren into the stable’s corridor.  
Alistair laughed. “Doesn’t like being cooped up though. I already talked about it with the High Constable, and he’s allowing her to live in the courtyard garden. Halla aren’t pets, after all, but friends. Isn’t that right, Little Whitey?”  
“‘Little Whitey?’ Is that what you’re calling her?”  
“What, you think you can come up with a better name?”  
Danyren looked down at the halla’s soft eyes, and knew that she had a deeper intelligence than any horse. All this time, the halla had chosen to stay with the Wardens, knowing full well that she could be let loose any time if she showed any resistance. And yet, here she was.  
“How about Adaia?”  
“Hm. That is a better name.”  
“Thank you, Alistair,” Danyren said before standing on her tippy toes to kiss Alistair on the lips. “You’re the best husband I could have asked for.”  
Alistair gave Danyren’s short hair an affectionate rub before replying, “I know, love. I know.”


End file.
